


2020 Quarantine

by Jalice



Category: Adam Driver - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24603211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalice/pseuds/Jalice
Summary: A whimsical blip describing COVID life, featuring Adam Driver as my muse.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	2020 Quarantine

It was a windy, warm evening when I forced myself and my Pearle to go for a walk. The air smelled moist after a few days of rain and the rustle of leaves and my neighbor’s wind-chimes uplifted my spirits. I’d made the effort to soothe my hungry, overly-sensitive soul by wearing a billowy white skirt. Might as well try to feel a tiny bit feminine if not whimsical with my skirt blowing in the breeze. Imaginary Adam Driver appeared to my left, tall and gangly and graceful like he is.

He smiled down at me, “You are beautiful, you know.”

“Thanks.” I smiled back wistfully, embracing the paradox. What he said was absolutely true and absolutely bullshit depending on the point of view.

He smirked, reading my mind. “Of course, you’re nowhere near as beautiful as my real life wife or the zounds of nameless teenagers who pine for me…but still.”

 _Smart ass._ “If you’re going to be a fantasy companion, you’re gonna have to follow the rules. Your wife doesn’t exist in my headcanon.”

“Right. Right. Sorry. I’ll remember.”

“You see? This is why Trent Reznor makes a better companion. I know almost nothing about his personal life, so there’s nothing to spoil the illusion.”

“Well, that’s hardly my fault. You’re the one who had nothing better to do than binge-watch behind the scenes interviews from my entire filmography.”

I raised my hands in surrender, “You’re right. It’s my own fault. Let’s just enjoy the view in silence, shall we?”

He nodded acquiescence, but I had half a mind to fade him out and bring Trent back, or maybe even Papa. He had always made me laugh on our evening walks at the farm.

Pearle had run ahead to inspect an ant hill and was now trotting back with that wonderfully awkward 3-year-old gait to report back on what she’d found. I pulled one headphone speaker away from my ear in anticipation.

“Mama, the ants are gone!”

“It’s starting to get dark, maybe they’re getting ready for bed?”

“Oh.” She nodded her profound new understanding of ant behavior.

She took my hand in tiny sticky fingers. _Gods, I love this kid._ I really should make this evening walk a regular thing. It’s so nice to feel the fresh air on my face and see her get a little more exercise. She tugged at my arm as she leaned over to smell the neighbor's sunflowers. _Cutest human evar._

As we passed the crack-house on our block, I wished we lived in a better neighborhood. It's a weird amalgam of cute little old houses with fruit trees, flowers, and yard shrines, and boarded up shit-holes with sketchy squatters leaving tall mounds of trash in the yards. Pearle will never have the freedom I enjoyed as a child as long as we live here, but at least we live within walking distance of gorgeous desert views in every direction. Once you reach the end of the gravelly neighborhood streets, there’s always an aged cement staircase to explore, nestled in the seams between ridges. Always a glittery view of the copper mines across the highway. Always a dusty desert breeze to bask in and a decent smattering of stars unobscured by air or light pollution once the sun set. That’s something, isn’t it?

With Pearle seemingly content to walk in silence, I replaced the headphone speaker over my ear. Billie Eilish breathed in dulcet tones, _And it feels like yesterday was a year ago / But I don’t wanna let anybody know / Cuz everybody wants something from me now / And I don’t wanna let ‘em down._

I looked over at imaginary Adam who now walked alongside Pearle. He winked and soundlessly pointed out that Paterson got some of his best poetry ideas during the meditative act of walking just like this.

 _Alright,_ I thought begrudgingly, _we’ll make evening walks a thing, then._

Papa would be pleased.


End file.
